


Dark Phoenix

by orphan_account



Series: Retribution [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Side Male Jedi Knight, Depression, Heavy Angst, Heroes to Villains, Jedi Knight Needs a Hug, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Star Wars: The Old Republic - Onslaught, Psychological Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Villain Protagonist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23889328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Alliance Commander, Zephyr Ancalagon, paid a heavy price to end the galactic insanity brought about by Valkorion and Arcann's Eternal Empire. The Alliance emerged the victor but the damage was already done. Following the events on Iokath and Umbara, Zephyr wanders deeper into a darker path. Distrustful and doubting of people he once called allies, he copes with the trauma that went unaddressed for years.
Relationships: Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython/Lord Scourge, Male Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython/Lord Scourge
Series: Retribution [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721836
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	1. Chaos Is A Ladder

**Summary:** Scourge and the rest of the old crew finally arrived on Odessen. Meanwhile, Zephyr copes with the worsening effects of his depression and emotional trauma at the hands of the Eternal Empire.

* * *

Zephyr puts away the last datapad for his workday. He exhaled in relief. He leans back in the chair and rubs his right eye with the palm of his right hand, sighing as a dull ache settles between his shoulders. A quick look at the digital clock informed him that he spent the last six hours engrossed in the quarterly department reports that came in from multiple divisions of the Alliance. It was half past seven already, which means he missed dinner.

He blinked tiredly at the clock and exhaled, shaking his head. It was not like he was hungry.

There was nothing else he could do about that, and technically, he could stop working at any time he wanted. Since he assumed the role of Commander, he became more isolated and disconnected from his old crew as the demands of his position often whisked him away from Odessen. Adding the five years he spent in carbonite, Zephyr had no more energy to think of how much he just grew apart from the old crew. Most of them disbanded when the Eternal Empire consolidated an iron grip on most of the star systems in the galaxy. And it was only recently that they started getting back together.

A part of him felt abandoned, hurt, and perhaps he was once a naive person to expect that nothing could shake the family that formed around him. His younger self was painfully naive and optimistic. He was never more wrong. People come and people go and he should have never expected anyone to stay permanently in his life. Master Orgus was proof of that. His death came as a surprising blow. And that surprise turned to grief, as grief morphed into a cold hatred for his enemies. A sense of desperation filled him that day and it broke him.

Death taught him the first lesson: no one he loved was safe if he continued to be weak. And so out of that event came a fierce resolve to be ruthless and cuttingly relentless towards his enemies. It was what carried him through Corellia, and Dromund Kaas. But then, he turned around and as soon as the Republic celebrated their victory over the Emperor's first defeat, the Jedi Order exiled him for having brushed too closely to the dark side. The Grandmaster disapproved of the tactics and mindset he developed to emerge triumphant in the war.

The message was loud and clear: he was just a weapon, nothing more. Powerful enough to use in wars but feared enough that they would put him in a leash again. And it really hit home when Master Kiwiks confronted him on Nathema.

Now that he was Commander, he was one of the most powerful weapons in the galaxy. People would flock to him, seeking allegiances and political alliances. But all of this left a bitter taste in his mouth. Perhaps he shouldn't dwell on these things. The past is the past and it it best to let the dead sleep.

Either way, Zephyr admits that he was a different person now. He has grown apart from them and there was nothing he could change about it. He has grown past the point of caring if they ever remained the same. He had his life now and they had theirs. When they were absent for the last few years, he had no time to spend on friendship. But he spent more time getting that trust shriveled up like it was nothing but food for kath hounds. He spent so much time brooding on the folly of his youth, only to realize that none of it matters in the end.

In a way, he still feels bitter about it. He feels bitter and angry that no one cared enough to look for him. He feels that cold rage returning, coiling and snaking around him like protective scales. No one cared enough to look for him, except Lana. No one came to his rescue. No one cared enough to look.

But now that most of the old crew came back, so did some of the old stirrings of yearning that pricked his battered heart. Bittersweet memories of times long past, surfaced again. He remembered a crew he used to feel comfortable sharing secrets with. He remembered a naive Jedi Knight, ambitious and strong-willed. He remembered how his heart would race whenever Scourge wanted a word with him. He remembered how he was such a pathetic fool, a tukata hound so hungry for anything he would even stoop so low as to go after whatever scrap of acknowledgement he could get.

And he remembered some of that old bitterness that he thought he left, that old bitterness that always remained in the background. The tension between crew mates that sometimes seeped in. The frustrated glares and disapproving words he heard after a mission, whenever he had to make a decision that could cost them the war or cost them the lives of a few innocents. He remembered how crew morale had suffered drastically in the last few weeks, before he disappeared into a carbonite prison. He remembered how most of the crew expressed their disappointments and anger at him for the calculated decisions he made, for decisions that saved their lives.

He remembered everything.

He wasn't intending on crossing paths with them anytime soon. But he still made mistakes, because he was a fool.

He entered the cantina the other day, looking for Lana to discuss something.

When a brief flash of the pureblood Sith crossed his eyes the other day in the cantina, he felt his heart stumbling and skipping a beat. It had been years since they last saw each other, almost a decade. When he felt those old stirrings, the naive infatuation of his youth, he closed off and the cold mask of the Alliance Commander saved his hide. He intended to turn tail and leave before they could see him, but it was too late.

The rest of the old crew turned their heads and finally noticed him standing there in the shadowed corner of the cantina.

When Scourge met his gaze, he saw something lurking there, something soft and warm. Scourge had looked at him like he was someone that was missed dearly. That was strange. Scourge was not the cold, pragmatic character that he remembered. The pureblood Sith that stood in front of him a few days ago was a completely different man.

It was impossible not to notice.

This change was unexpected. At that time, a prickle of suspiciin started appearing in his mind and before they rest of the old crew could exchange words, Zephyr quickly left the cantina. He knew it was a foolish tactic at best. Sooner or later they would talk eventually. As he retreated, he could still feel the heavy glances drilling a hole behind his skull. He could feel their confusion. But now that Scourge has returned, he doesn't know what to say. Or rather, what to feel about it.

He thinks he preferred it when they thought he was dead.

He exhaled again and rubbed his hand on his face, groaning in frustration. He felt otherwordly heaviness pull on his shoulders and he slouched forward, pinching the bridge of his nose aggressively. When he opened his eyes again and looked around, he accidentally caught a glimpse of his haggard reflection on the lustrous surface of the durasteel wall.

Dark patches were visible in the lower parts of his eyes, a sign of sleepness nights and cortisol-rich days. The former cerulean lustre in his eyes has faded into a dull icy-blue, appearing almost a lifeless grey. His skin took on an even more unhealthy pallor, rendering him paler than he usually was. His short ebony hair was still mostly swept back and parted to the side, with the exception of a few strands falling on his forehead. It looked like he lost more than a few pounds in the last few weeks. The man he glimpsed in that reflection looked defeated and withdrawn. He did not recognize that man as himself.

How many saw what he saw? Would they know? Would someone from the Alliance care enough?

He turned his gaze away from the reflection and exhaled again. He shook his head and stood up, determined to clear his head with a solitary stroll. He sincerely hoped he was lucky enough not to bump into anyone.

* * *

Leaving the lower levels of the Alliance base was easier than he thought. For a faction of considerable size, the halls were stangely barren at this time. For once, he was grateful that most of the Alliance ranks were away at the mess hall, socializing and holding drinking contests to drive each other to the ground. It was child's play to sneak past the cantina and head up to the platform that oversaw one of the marvelous views on Odessen.

He slowly walked closer to the edge, clasping his hands behind his back. A gentle breeze whistled past his cheeks and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as the cold night air soothed his nerves. Silence surrounded him and for once, he felt at ease for the first time in years. He opened his eyes and tilted his head to gaze upwards. Small grey clouds dotted the background of the cosmos but the luminosity of the moons prevailed against the cosmic dark. Distant stars sparkled and danced against the still darkness. It was a simple view and he cherished it for the moment.

He felt his shoulders stiffening as he sensed a presence behind him. The presence was slowly approaching him, and it moved in such a way as if it was aware that any sudden movement from their part might cause him to react and bolt again. He clenched his jaw and stubbornly stared ahead.

Scourge had always moved with the quiet and assured confidence of a stalking nexu, for a man of his size. The tension in his shoulders increased as the Sith moved closer to the point they were now standing, shoulder to shoulder. The heavy weight of doubt and suspicion pulled his gut. He stiffened up further when he felt that scorching gaze landing on him, scrutizining and assessing. It seems that the discomfort he felt at being analysed and watched never abated, even after all those years apart. He cannot help but think there was an angle that Scourge wanted to work him from.

The last seven years have hollowed him out. The only way he survived with barely his sanity intact was keeping his cards close to his chest. Viciously close. He refused to slip up again. He refused to reveal his hand again. He refused to trust blindly. Actually, he refused to trust at all. He couldn't bear it anymore. Not since Theron and Umbara.

Eapecially, not after Theron.

Ever since he became the Commander, he has become the magnet for betrayal, backstabbing and bloodshed. Everyone that hates the Alliance wants a piece of his hide. Everyone that wants the power that came with his position wants to play him and buy his support with flattery and bribes. Everyone that relies on him always needs him to keep functioning, even when he was already falling apart inside. Everyone needs something from him, but he can't even afford to want something for himself.

He won't lie. There were days that he thought of slashing the Achilles tendons of the Alliance and torching everything he built here. Even after Nathema, he sometimes wondered if Theron was right, if he had truly become the cruel authoritarian he was. Sometimes, the violence of that desire frightened him. Sometimes, it seems to be the only rational response. The ordeal he suffered in the last seven years have cost him so much. He was so tired of this war. He was so tired of wasting everything he had in the name of this abstract pursuit of peace.

Where was the peace in the universe?

Where was the order? The logical case and effect?

Where was that attempt at finding peace with your enemy?

Nothing. Not even the oppression they all experienced under the Eternal Empire was enough to teach the Republic and the Empire the sheer stupidity of their antiquated ways. The personal cost it came to him to decapatitate the threat of Valkorion, was not enough for this bloody galaxy. He was so tired of this ancient blood feud between the two factions. Sometimes, he thinks that the only reason they even continue doing this was that the mere act of waging war against the other was the only tradition they knew to preserve.

They learned nothing from the Hyperspace Wars.

They learned nothing at all.

Maybe, one day, he should just craft his own plans to tear them all down. To do away with the past. To tear down the sandy foundations of an already perishing civilization. To break from the past and start anew.

Perhaps he will. Yes, perhaps.

But for now, here he remains.

He feels tension running up his arm as he involuntarily clenched his fist behind his back. A muscle on his nose twitched in disgust and it almost twisted his face into a snarl, but his self-control was too formidable. He intervened and exhaled, grudgingly letting it all go.

"It is good to see you again, Zephyr," Scourge said quietly. Even with him looking ahead, he could see from his peripheral vision that Scourge looked hesitant.

He exhaled slowly, feeling the gentle breeze of the night ruffling the strands of his ebony hair that never stayed put. "Did you need something from me?" he says in a clipped tone, eyes still staring straight ahead.

A part of him felt the bittersweet bite of yearning when the Sith turned to face him fully, and even he could sense the mounting confusion from the Sith. "No. I just wanted to see you, Zephyr. It . . . has been a long time since we last talked."

There is always an angle. No one in their sane mind would talk to him without having some kind of angle. But fine, if that is how it is meant to be played. He will play along.

"I see. Well, don't let me keep you," he replies back in that same monotone voice he used on everyone now.

He straightened his shoulders and turned around, quietly desperate to escape and withdraw to his own quarters. A warm grip enclosed around his forearm and he froze, barely able to fight back the shiver that slithered up his spine. The grip tightened a little and he felt his nose bridge twitching violently, torn between snarling and keeping silent. He blinked when the grip around his arm loosened, and a gentle tug on his arm has him slowly turning his head. Before he could be fully aware of what he was doing, large hands were gently turning him around to face the Sith. He numbly gazed up at his former companion, fiercely determined not to reveal anything.

He saw the rising tide of concern sheltered behind those crimson eyes. But he gazed on unflinchingly, gazing deeper and beyond what he could see. A distant part of him was sounding the alarm as he saw the distance between them inching closer and closer. And yet, he gazed ahead to something beyond. He was not seeing anything.

Large hands had tangled with his own fingers and he felt enough curiosity to break his gaze and look down at the action. Large, warm hands cupped his own fingers, wrapping them in a protective cocoon. He blinked at a glacial pace as he felt his hand being turned over, feeling the warmth of a thumb brushing over his knuckles like a lover's caress. He blinked again as he observed one of those large hands reaching up.

Why now? Why was it being reciprocated now, when he was so brutally turned down years ago? Why now? What's the angle here?

He swallowed thickly as he felt it press gently against his sternum, gentle and but not forceful. He could feel every pluck of his heartstrings reverberating against the palm of that hand. The pattern went on and silence enveloped them. The weight of that hand soon became a brand and but he could not find it in him to move away. He felt his throat closing as emotion threatened to choke him.

His heart galloped in his chest and in that one moment of weakness, it tried reaching for the hand that felt concerned enough to try and reach out to him. He could feel it straining with every heartbeat against the gilded cage he set around it. But this new mask he wore felt too real and it protected him from impulsive desires. And so he remained silent.

"You're hurting, Zephyr. I can feel it here," Scourge said softly, and as if to make his point, he gently tapped a large hand against his sternum. "I'm so sorry I didn't see it before."

He wanted to laugh bitterly. Of course, all of them had something to be sorry about. All of them had regrets they were going to bring to the grave. But he has lived long enough in this new skin to change anything about himself. His new social mask was brutally effective for a reason. As much as he would have once wanted this, to open up again and confide in people he wanted to trust, he just could not. Even when he feels this decision shredding apart whatever was left of him, he just couldn't. Love and youthful folly left him bereft like a mourning widower.

He wasn't sure his heart could take it again if there were any more surprises and betrayals. The scars were still too fresh from Theron's betrayal.

He could never forget the sheer embarassment he felt at being naive enough to fall for the wiles of a spy. He could never forget how embarassed and ashamed he was for opening up again, falling in love with a spy.

He could never forget hearing the sound of his own heartstrings ripping itself apart as blaster bolts almost went through him.

He will never forget the fearful voice that echoed in his head at the end of all this: 'Why didn't Theron trust us to work this out together? Why does it always take a lie to protect the universe, but always at the cost of us?'

He thought he knew what love was. He had such high expectations for it. It was always depicted as the force that saved the universe. Jedi were forbidden to form attachments and yet here he was. He thought that finding this thing, the one thing that was so revered by legend, would be the thing that gave him the purpose to continue on. But he realized he never knew at all.

He played with fire and paid the price.

In the end, as much as he wanted to leave Theron on Nathema, to suffer and perish for the pain that hollowed out his chest with every painful breath, his heart would betray him once again. He could never leave Theron, not even when he himself was so easily cast aside like debris. Ever since, things have been tense and ambiguous between them. Theron tried several times to get him alone to talk, but by then, it was too late.

He supposed it was his fault. He cared too much. It blinded him. Perhaps he should have taken care of himself first.

Maybe that was his fault. He had too much heart.

Maybe it was time to cut it out.

He blinked numbly as he felt a hand landing on his cheek. He blinked again as a stray thumb brushed over his cheek. "You were lost in thought there. I've never seen you so contemplative," Scourge whispered back. "I know you, Zephyr. It's alright to be vulnerable. I'm here. Tell me what's on your mind."

There it was. That was the angle.

And he wanted to laugh. After all these years, now it comes back.

Cold, arctic rage coiled around his gut. He slowly raised his eyes as he felt his face hardening to an impassive expression of pure stone. He stared through the Sith before him, unblinking as he felt ice-cold fury snaking around his stomach. Memories suddenly flashed in the forefront of his mind.

He remembered the impassioned confession of a naive Jedi Knight. He remembered the stinging bite of cold rejection and derisive insults. He remembered the scathing dismissals and remarks about his devotion to the Jedi Order. He remembered the blatant attempts to manipulate him into believing the Sith doctrine. He remembered the cold shoulder and distant regard, even as he tried his best to be open and friendly towards someone he should have been mortal enemies with.

A cold, ironic smile twisted his face. For a second, some of the bitterness bubbled over and he laughed a little, ignoring the roughness in his ears. "Funny coincidence," he croaked.

He tears himself away from Scourge before the Sith could even react. He glares at the broad-shouldered man, feeling his cold rage rising as the Sith had the gall to look aatonished. "What are you trying to tell me, Scourge? That after all these years, you suddenly grew feelings? Feelings for _me_? I'm sorry, but have we met? Or did you forget?" he spat coldly.

Scourge scowled, blinking rapidly in confusion and dare he say, mild frustration. "I - I wanted to see how you were doing, Zephyr," came the quiet reply. "And, I wanted to apologize for my cruel behavior all those years ago. I never realized how deeply I hurt you until these last few years."

Zephyr crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. "When I was gone, you mean. Strange, isn't it?" he replied coldly. "When people want something from me, they kiss up. They play pretend. But when it is the other way around, you cut off the rope before I even get a chance."

Scourge shut his eyed and exhaled. "If you would let me apologize --"

He laughed, because he could barely hold it back anymore. A stab of vindictive delight coursed through him. "What a piss-shit attempt at an apology. Try fixing your entitlement complex before coming here and talking to me," he smiled harshly. "Seven fucking years and you never changed. Big fucking deal, I'm not stupid. The last person I ever expected to change is you. And in case I need to spell it out for you; I don't care anymore. I have bigger things to worry about besides some stupid fucking crush I had on you ten years ago. I've moved on. Do yourself a favor, why don't you? And don't ever bring it up again."

"Zephyr --"

"Stuff it. I don't care," Zephyr interrupted coldly, addressing him in a monotone voice. "We haven't seen each other in over seven years. As far as I'm concerned, you waltzing back here will not change anything. You've got some nerve to think you're entitled to get something from me. I'm going to be brutally honest here; I'm done with relationships. I'm done with you and everyone else. If you send someone from your crew to try and talk to me, I will cut them and then I will cut you."

Scourge blinked, brows furrowing. He didn't want to know if that was out of concern or frustration, or maybe it was something else entirely. Zephyr could never know for certain with him. He still looked like he wanted to follow him back to the Commander's quarters. But he has to cut him off here.

"The Zephyr I knew would never say that. He would never say that about anyone or his crew. The Zephyr I knew would never say that. What changed?" he said quietly, but Zephyr could hear the protectiveness behind those words.

Zephyr smiled, the one smile that he knew that bled of cruelty and bitter regret. "Eight years. That is what changed. Eight years," he tried to say coldly, but he felt his voice cracking at the last two words. He hardened himself and scowled at the Sith. "We've all gone our own way. And honestly, I like it better that way. I've stood alone for all those years. What makes you think I need you?"

Scourge raised his head and looked him in the eye, and it took everything he had to stand his ground and not turn tail like a coward. "I think you're lying, Zephyr. You're lying," the Sith said in that confident tone, and Zephyr scowled at that. "You're only saying those things to keep everyone at a distance. But I sense your emotions contradicting you."

"I'm here for you, Zephyr," the Sith said in that quiet and gentle tone, and it felt so out of place from the former Emperor's Wrath that he refused to believe that it wasn't a ploy to let his guard down. "And if you want to hear my apology, I will give it freely. As many times as you need to hear it. I'm not lying when I say that the crew has missed you. That I have missed you. We looked for you all those years and we never stopped. I know you still care about them. I want you to know that I care for you too. Deeper beyond words."

Destiny was so cruel.

For so many years he yearned to hear those words. And now that it was practically handed to him in a silver platter, he doesn't know if he should be hurt or disgusted.

For some reason, hearing those words felt like a cheap tactic, and he couldn't help feeling like he was a cheap whore that was bought out for some other purpose. Not that it felt any different. For the last many years he felt exactly like that. He felt like a pawn moved about by different powers and influences he couldn't see behind the curtains.

What does Scourge take him for? A fool? There was always an ulterior motive. After all, why come back now?

Words were useless now. He didn't want to talk anymore.

Zephyr took a few steps back, shaking his head. "I have business to attend to," he said with a frigid tone. "If you want to make yourselves useful, then talk to Agent Shan. Or talk to Lana. The Alliance is always short on working hands. Otherwise, don't come for looking for me. My time is short and expensive."

He turned around and walked away, away from what could have been, far away from what he used to think he wanted.

He shook his head, shutting his eyes as he felt the starting pinpricks of tears welling up in his eyes.

It cost everything he had to come to this point in life. The young Jedi Knight they all knew died along with everyone else on Darth Marr's flagship. Everything that defined that Jedi Knight, the dedication to the Order, the idealism, the sense of compassion and justice -- all of that died with that naive child.

He was never lying when he said he was a completely different person now. If they were around to see how he dealt with the Eternal Empire, they would be horrified at the measures he took.

They would think him to be a monster.

And he would agree.


	2. Ascension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In order to forge the future as envisioned, one must break free from the past. To leave behind all that is known, is the hardest leap a man can take. But the hardest choices always required the strongest of wills.

Changing the world required sacrifices. He had been preparing for this day for some time now. If all went well, he would finally be free from his chains.

The wilderness of Odessen was his sanctuary. When he checked his timetable, he knew this was the day to enact his plans.

He decided to go through his morning exercises by traversing the natural terrain. Using nothing but the Force, he moved and scaled the terrain as he engaged in the art of moving meditation.

In the wilderness, he was free to be himself. Away from anyone and isolated from any disturbance. The simplicity of life here was enticing enough that he often felt tempted to drop his responsibilities as the Commander and entertain fantasies where he spends months alone in the wilderness. The primal simplicity of things was an ideal he never thought he would ever crave.

The Alliance has entered a period of respite and tranquility. Despite the latest encounter with Darth Malgus and the events on the Meridian Complex, things have been fairly quiet recently. More recruits have signed on in the last few weeks than he has seen in months, although it was nowhere the influx rate they saw in the early days of the Eternal Empire. It was inevitable that some would wish to return to their homes and it was't like he could blame them. If he were younger and more naive, he would have longed to be back on Republic soil.

But after everything, he could no longer say he was proud of his former home. The conduct of the Republic left a bitter taste in his mouth, and the debacle with Saresh didn't improve their standing in his eyes. Going back to the Republic meant entangling himself in politics and he would rather see heads roll than partake in the teacup parties of delicate senators.

And thinking of the Jedi Order, never failed to ignite that dull ache that still pained his chest. Everything he did was to protect them, or at least he used to think. Having lived through the Sacking of Coruscant as a child, watching as the sacred Temple fell to ruins, it left marks on him that still defined his actions. Everything he did was once to protect the Jedi Order.

But now, when it became clear they wanted nothing to do with him, he was torn between feeling betrayed or disappointed. Betrayed, because they judged him too quickly and misread his calculated intentions for geing evil. Disappointed, because he should have listened to the voice in him that always warned of the Jedi Order's shortsightedness and foolish rigidity. He had wanted to hate them, to strangle them for their shortsightedness, to set them ablaze for hurting him in the worst way possible by calling him an Exile.

Was this how the first Jedi Exiles felt when they drew on the power of the Dark side, all in the name of protecting Tython from alien invaders?

Was this the gutwrenching pain they felt when they were cast out by their own brothers and sisters out of unfounded fear?

Was this how it felt to be viewed as a monster by the ones you wished to protect?

Everything he did, he always wound up breaking something else.

Most days now, he hardly feels like the competent Commander that led an entire people through a war. His exploits have built for him an exaggerated reputation, and he feels uncomfortable and exposed because of it. He has no more privacy. There were very little things nowadays that he was confident about. He often doubts his own ability to make the calls.

Now more than ever, he wished that Master Orgus was still alive. He could have used his old master's wisdom and guidance. Master Orgus always knew the wisest path forward. The little errands he did on Rishi in his master's name left a deep impression on him, and for a while, he remembered how it used to feel to be a Jedi, just helping out the common folk. It felt good to help people and it eased some of that guilt he carried. He had forgotten what it felt like to practice compassion on people and help out the less fortunate.

But that was a long time ago.

All he knew now was war. He wasn't good at being delicate and gentle anymore. He was just a war dragon that has seen too many days of combat. He was tired but he couldn't afford to stop the fight. As much as he wanted to, he didn't want the younger ones to live through what he had. So, someone had to make the hard decisions, and he would rather it be him than anyone else. Even if it meant dealing with their disageeements.

When he landed on a rock ledge, he stood up and wiped the sweat running down his head with his forearm. He panted softly for air as his lungs worked to recover from the physical strain. Shaking his head, he remained crouching as he slowly took in the view from his vantage point.

The mighty bellows of the waterfall echoed around the place, violent torrents of water storming past the land. The air was crisp and moist witg morning dew. The grounds beneath the cascading waterfall were teeming with life forces of creatures saturated by the Force. Every living creature was a blue spark of life energy within the Force, their energies beating like human hearts. He saw a young sleen scampering excitedly towards its mother. He heard the first cries of a nexu kit as it came into the world. The life forces and heartbeats of numerous creatures sharpened into a single point of focus.

He felt a certain lightness in his chest, a sense of calm and belonging. He inhaled slowly and allowed a small smile to creep into his face. He looked down at this right arm and examined the cybernetic parts that now replaced the entirety of his flesh arm. He blinked once and inhaled deeply, trying to focus all of his inner conflict and emotion into a central image. With a deep exhale, he releases it and imagines himself feeling lighter with every inch of air that leaves him. He examines his cybernetic right arm, calmly taking notes of where he could install upgrades to improve its performance.

He reaches up and grips the cybernetic shoulder brace with his left hand, scowling as an invasive thought appeared in his mind.

It had been years since he lost his biological right arm. So far he had taken measures to ensure that no one outside his own personal medical droid knew of it. It wasn't difficult to pass it off as if nothing was wrong. Not even Theron knew. He scowled, feeling a dull ache appearing in his chest at the thought of Theron.

Everything was a mess, between them two. Everything was an utter, bloody mess. And the worse thing was, Zephyr understood it well on a logical level that Theron had no choice. He understood logically that Theron had no choice and it was just also unfortunate that there was so little time for him to explain the threat posed by the Heralds of Zildrog. But it doesn't mean he can't separate what he saw with his eyes and what he felt as he heard Theron's words on the train.

Was all of it a lie?

Did his eyes trick him when they shyly confessed their feelings to one another?

Was he deceived at some point?

Or did some of it hold a grain of truth?

There was just no telling anymore.

All he ever wanted was to be strong enough to protect the ones he loved. How could he do that when this pattern of betrayal always shows up? He tries his best with what he has to protect them. But always, what he gets in return are disappointed looks, cutting insults on his character, and attacks on his integrity. Always pointing out his flaws, always seeing a lack in him.

He has never raised a hand or willingly entertained the thoughts of being cruel to anyone he cared, not even a lover. He would never do to Theron what he suffered now. Never in a million lifetimes. And yet, why did it turn out the way it did? Why did it always take betrayal to protect the world? Couldn't they have worked it out together? Why say hurtful things just to sell a cover?

Was he that expendable?

And more importantly, will you say hurtful things in a fit of anger if it didn't have an ounce of truth in it?

He swallowed hard, snarling quietly to himself.

_'Why don't we do it? Why don't we? We've been thinking about it since we returned. Why not?'_

He grits his teeth, inhaling sharply. He shakes his head and cranes his neck to look up, forcing himself to look at the natural scenery before his eyes in an attempt to distract him from those thoughts. But to avoid the trail of bitterness that still bombards him was a Pyrrhic victory at best. He instantly recalled an age-old quote from a tragic holo-novel he read, many years past.

He inhaled deeply as he slowly gazed at the ground, murmuring the exact line with cold precision. "'I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.'"

He exhaled shakily, shoulders drooping as the significance of that statement washes over him. Now he realized that he truly did wrestle between surrendering to his destructive rage or surrendering to his desire for peace. And he has done so for the last several years of his life. The struggle has occupied his mind for too long that he no longer knows of a time where he was not in conflict with himself. Rage or serenity. Passion or calm. Vengeance or peace. Retribution or forgiveness.

Love, or hate.

Until now, he wages war with himself on making a choice. He knows that the human mind can only tolerate ambiguity for so long, and yet, the reason he avoided making a choice was the fact that he was mortally afraid of the consequences. And he was fearful of the fact that he might not be strong enough to handle those consequences.

Little does it take to make him feel fragile nowadays. But the longer he doesn't commit to a decision, the worse he will be. There was no inherent advantage in choosing one over the other because either would finally let him move on with his life, but it was the consequences and the demands on him that make him doubtful.

Love or hate, the only fact he knows is that things cannot go back to the way they were.

If he chooses love, then he would have to grudgingly accept the fact that betrayal and disappointment will always follow him like a shadow. He would have to live with the idea of being vulnerable, even if it means he would experience what it was like to love again. He could heal and find new ground with someone else, but that love would always be tainted by the shadows and hurts left behind by old scars. He would be able to love again as time passes, but he might never learn from his folly.

But if he chooses hate, then he would learn to hate his weaker self, and in turn, hate the ones that would dare to exploit his weaknesses. He would learn to identify his faults and correct them with ruthless resolve. He would hate weakness and if he learned to fix them, then nothing in the galaxy can stop him from becoming who he wants to be. Hating the idea of a weakness will give him more power and strength than he ever had. He could learn and adapt more efficiently than ever. But it opens the path to a lonely life, and perhaps, a life where he stands alone at the top.

But he has to choose.

Betrayal or loneliness.

And after tasting the bitter poison from the fruit of betrayal, the latter case makes for a stronger argument.

But it is a question of what he wants.

What was the lesser evil?

Loneliness. To be alone is better than being in the company of a world that sought to kill you for who you were. To be the flower on the precipice stretching towards the heavens, daring to do what most sentient beings only dreamed of. The flower on the precipice has that freedom, because it dared to fight for that ideal.

To be unshackled and unburdened by humanity and their expectations. To ascend higher than anyone has flown before him. To be the unstoppable force that will enact a violent rebirth in a static universe.

This will be his new ideal. And as he fights for that ideal, the Force shall reward him.

He inhales slowly, feeling a sense of clarity he hasn't experienced in ages. He slowly rises to his feet as he observes the life and activities of Odessen's wilderness. He feels a strong surge of vitality and energy coursing through him, rejuvenating the parts of himself that he once thought were dead. He feels a sense of lightness coursing through him. As he looks out from his vantage point on the waterfall, he raises his left arm, reaching for the horizon of Odessen's skies. He closes his hand in a resolute fist, face set in grim detetmination.

"The future is mine to shape and mine to command," he murmurs. He retracts his arm and lets it fall to his slide, before clenching it again. "I will break with the past, along with every relationship and tradition that no longer bears fruit. I am a new being. I am not bound to anything. I am my own master, the creator of my destiny and the forger of my own fate. Nothing will rise to challenge me, not even my own fears."

A plan was finished forming in his mind. And he was grateful that he prepared for this possibility.

It was time to play the pieces.

If he played them right, he would begin the first phase of his personal vision.

* * *

It would take him a while to realize the differences in his own emotional reactions towards the mundane aspects of existence.

When he arrived back on the Alliance base, he was amazed at how sensitive he was to the presence of the people that occupied the base. Before he left, he was only dimly aware of them beyond the storm that occupied his mind. But now he could feel the shape of their presences in the Force so clearly that he could trace the shape of each one by the tip of a vibroknife. The Alliance base was a humming centre of activity at 0800 hours, the sheer novelty of such an experience rendering him speechless.

A ripple in the Force had him craning his neck towards the direction of the war room. The aura that surrounded that presence was a storm, and it could only belong to one other. Scourge had sensed his return and true to his nature, will always take every chance to ruthlessly corner him until they had an honest conversation. The aura crackled with desperation and longing.

_'I am not bound to anything.'_

He borrowed some of that newfound energy within him and instinctively commanded the Force to shelter him away from prying eyes, and gently coaxing it to make all other Force sensitives blind to his presence. He felt the Force wrapping around him like a warm layer of fur. With a calm and focused mind, he navigated through the Alliance ranks, walking past the connecting tunnels and reaching the military hangar. Along the way, no one payed attention to him, not even a single nod of recognition or stray greeting from his troops.

He was truly invisible.

As he trekked past the soldiers and Alliance personnel that worked at the military hangar, his mind instantly went to the second phase of his plan. No one will notice his departure until he was well out of sight in the current star system.

He calmly enters the passcode to the doors that led to the elevator. Another ripple in the Force has him raising his head and looking over his shoulder as he noticed it tearing through the lower levels of the Alliance base. He looks back as the doors hissed open, and he steps inside the elevator. He sensed Scourge and a few others arriving at his personal quarters, and he deduced that his quarters would be the last location they checked before they would go to the military hangar to investigate. As realization hits them, he would already be on his way to his personal starship.

The elevator finally descends to ground level, doors opening to the sight of a long durasteel bridge that led to his own starship. He sprints towards his own Umbaran tauntaun and mounts it instantly. Taking the reins with practised ease, he clicks his tongue and the tauntaun grunts, obeying his command as he lead them both across the bridge. When he reaches the sealed doors, he enters the captain's passcode and dives into the safety of his starship.

The lights flickered on and he races for the flight consoles. As he takes his seat in the command deck, he starts the engines and begins engaging the flight protocols. He retracted the landing stands of the ship and maneuvered the controls to lift the ship from ground level. He enters a series of codes and buttons to engage the prototype stealth technologies he installed on the ship. As the ship gains more height above the ground, the cloaking technology and anti-tracking system went online. As the ship ascended to one thousand feet above ground, he cast one last wistful glance at the Alliance base.

He deliberately activated the cloaking technologies of the ship at the last minute, because he knew that this activity would be instantly logged by the automated defenses set around the Alliance base. The first phase of the plan wouldn't work without this.

He turns back in his seat to look ahead. He drove the starship higher and in a few minutes, he exited the stratosphere of Odessen. With the hyperspace coordinates locked in on the astrogation console, he activated the hyperdrive and jumped to lightspeed.

If all things went according to plan, it would be months before they would catch his trail. And on the off chance they did it too early, he will still have time to set up more of his failsafes. They might have the collective brainpower of the Alliance, but no one had more knowledge of their inner workings than he did. His disappearance will shock them to submission for the first few days, and that will buy him time.

_'Break from the past to forge the future.'_

* * *

_Shock settled over the Alliance war room like a cold dagger._

_"Did my eyes just deceive me or was that really the Commander's ship that just disappeared from our radars?" Aric Jorgan frowned at the alerts, puzzled and bewildered._

_"No, your eyes are not deceiving you," Lana said quietly, brows furrowed in confusion. "He did just leave Odessen. Hastily, I might add."_

_"Wait, what? Why would the Commander do that? He doesn't seem the type to just ride off without telling anyone," Tau Idair frowned, crossing her arms._

_"Okay, what happened exactly? How did this happen?" Doc blinked furiously, brows raised to his hairline in shock and disbelief._

_"The Commander up and left Odessen without anyone knowing, Doc," Kira interrupted sardonically._

_The faint creaks of durasteel echoed through the war room, causing them to turn their heads towards the entrance where Scourge stormed in, crimson eyes blazing with emotional intensity._

_"No. Zephyr planned this. He wanted us to know that he left willingly, and he left it to our imaginations to ponder the reasons why," Scourge growled, every word reverberating with a menacing snarl. "He shielded himself with the Force. That is why we were running around, trying to locate him. He ran us in circles before we got the chance to know what he planned to do."_

_"We still can't trace him," Theron said quietly, eyes glazed as he looked at the console. "The prototype cloaking devices he used were strong enough to evade even our advanced sensors. There's no way to locate him for now."_

_"Why? Why would he feel the need to go somewhere we can't reach him?" Kira scowled._

_"He doesn't want to be found," Scourge snarled, feeling torn inside as confusion and heartache bombarded him from all fronts. "He doesn't want to be found, Kira. He wants nothing to do with us!"_

_"Whoa, there! Calm down --"_

_"I will not calm down, Kira," Scourge snarled, fists clenched as he paced around. "I know him. Zephyr is a deliberate and calculated man. He must have been planning this for sometime. And we all know it!"_

_"He was acting oddly in the last few days," Lana continued musing, eyes distant and contemplative._

_Theron perked up, eyes wide. "Really? Why didn't you say anything?"_

_"I don't know if you all need to be reminded, but the last few years have not been kind to the Commander at all," Lana frowned. "The war has taken its toll on him. And I often regret in my limited ability to assist him in that regard. He has been forced to make decisions that weigh heavily on him. And the constant paranoia and stream of betrayals have not helped in the slightest. Perhaps we must first understand why he left so abruptly. Only then we might know where he is going."_

_Theron flinched at the reminder of his betrayal, and this reaction unfoetunately caught the sharp eye of Scourge, who was now observing him with a cutting gaze. "I'll start building a profile of his activities in the last few days," he said quietly. "Hopefully we might get a new lead."_

_"You hurt him, didn't you?" Scourge said in a low growling voice, the threat in his voice unmistakably sudible._

_Theron blinked rapidly, looking away as he crossed his arms. "I had no choice. I - I had to do it to protect hi - the Alliance."_

_The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. Scourge balefully glared at the dejected spy, raising his arm and forming a claw grip with his hand. Theron's eyes widened as he felt a phantom force gripping his throat, and panic flooded his chest as the grip became tighter._

_"Whoa whoa! What the hell, Scourge!" Doc stumbled back._

_"Scourge, let him go!" Kira yelled._

_"Release him, Sith!" Aric Jorgan yelled, reaching for his rifle._

_Tau unclipped her ligthsaber and unleashed the saber. "Enough! I thought we were all on the same side here!"_

_"You broke his heart, didn't you? Yes, you did. I can see it in your eyes," Scourge said coldly. "It haunts you. It tears at you. But have you seen him? Have you looked him in the eye as I have? Do you want me to tell you what I saw? When I spoke to him yesterday, I saw the shell of the man he once was. Pain and heartbreak followed him like death's shadow. I looked into his eyes and all I saw was rage, heartbreak, and self-loathing. And I asked myself: how can a man, once so loving and selfless, turn into the bitter shell I see now? It only happens when love gives a stinging kiss that leads to a final death. And it used you to do it."_

_"Please, let me go," Theron rasped, scrabbling madly at his throat as he remained helplessly limp on the air by Scourge's grip._

_"Scourge! Let him go!"_

_"Last warning, Sith! Or I'll shoot your brains out!"_

_"I know Zephyr. I know that he loves deeply beyond words. I know that he is endlessly loyal to the ones that earned his trust. I may not be absolved of my past mistakes, but I at least know of his worth better than you," Scourge snarled, ignoring the threats from around him. "I could never have done to him the atrocities you committed. I will find him and I will make him whole again. I will cleanse him of you. I will treat him like a king. I will always be the devoted mate he wanted. I am committed to that much at least. Which is more than I can say of you, you cowardly Republic scum."_

_Scourge released his grip and Theron collapsed to his knees, gasping violently._

_"He will return to us. Mark my words. Nothing in this galaxy will stop me from finding him."_


	3. Will of the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from an old friend, and one last gift before a permanent exit from the stage of life.

_"Master Orgus?"_

_His Jedi elder smiled at him, although he couldn't but help but notice the flatness in his former master's eyes, and it frightened him for some reason. "Hello there, Padawan. It has been a long time."_

_He blinked, swallowing hard as a burst of regret and anguish gripped his throat. "I - I thought you moved on, Master. I thought - I thought you found your peace on Rishi."_

_"I thought so too. But for some reason, I still feel a need for my presence here," the Jedi elder smiled, but Zephyr could see the sorrow that lurked beneath the depths of that gaze. Why was his Master anguished about something? "And it seems to center around you, my Padawan. Much has transpired since we last convened."_

_He looked away, arms crossed defensively around his abdomen. "Things have changed, yeah. A lot, let's just say."_

_"The world has changed you, Padawan," Master Orgus remarked sadly. "And I'm not sure if it's for the better._

_"With all due respect, I've lived through two wars, Master. And I had to deal with - a lot, even from within my own circle of friends. Betrayals, backstabbing, disappointments. I'm not sure if it's realistic to expect anyone to come out of that unscathed."_

_"I see that, my Padawan. I am not discounting the trauma you went through. But, we both know I am not talking about that," Master Orgus looked at him sadly. "I am talking about your heart, Padawan. I sense great pain, heartbreak, sorrow, strife and regret from you. It tears you apart everyday. It grieves me to see the state of your wellbeing."_

_He looks down at his hands, clenching them. "You were right, Master," he said quietly. "You were right. About the nature of attachments. You were right about emotions. Passionate emotions can truly destroy a person. And a Jedi destroyed by passion, becomes something terrible. You said that, remember?"_

_When he looked up again, he only saw the Jedi elder gazing at him with sorrow. "Yes, I remember. At Tython. Before you matured into a Knight."_

_"I am destroyed by it. Now, I have nothing left but my hatred against a cruel and unjust world," he continued saying in a subdued tone, shoulders drooping. "A world that continues to take and take, without regard for innocent life. I want nothing more than to destroy the cycle. But, I'm tired, Master."_

_He exhaled slowly. "I'm so tired. Of the troubles of this life. Of everything. I'm tired, old friend. I'm tired. I tried all there is try. I've lived through enough to fill hundreds of lifetimes. Is it my time to go? Is that why you appeared to me?"_

_"I'm sorry, my Padawan, but it isn't your time yet," Master Orgus smiled sadly, and Zephyr looked away. "I'm sorry that I could not be the Master you deserved. I'm sorry I left you too early. You faced so much in your short life, and have overcome so much. It breaks me to see you like this. But I should tell you that no matter what you choose to do with your life, know that I am very proud to have been your Master. I am proud of you, my Padawan. And nothing will change that."_

_His eyes widened. He swallowed hard and he felt his eyes misting over as a pang of dull regret lanced his chest. "Thank you, Master Orgus. I - I wish things would have turned out differently if I had just been strong enough to protect you too. But I always fail, one way or another. I wish you never died the way you did."_

_"There is no death, there is only the Force. It was my time, my Padawan, and I made my peace with it. Now, you must find your own peace," the Jedi elder said gently. "I wish I had more to give you, my Padawan. I wish I could heal you one last time, just like I did on Rishi all those years. Anything to take away your suffering. But I feel my strength waning, my Padawan. I feel the pull of the Force. It is finally calling me home."_

_Zephyr gazed up at the Jedi elder, jaw clenched. He swallowed again, biting down the raw grief that cut through him. "This is goodbye then," he rasped. He looked up, hungrily memorizing every moment of this time into memory. "I won't see you again. I am truly alone, after this."_

_"You have never been alone, son. Not one bit," Master Orgus corrected gently, patient as ever even in death. "This is my last gift to you, Padawan."_

_"What is it?" he croaked._

_"A gift borne from the Force. It is not from my own strength, but the Force itself," the Jedi elder reached out, squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to comfort. "It will stay with you all the days of your life, until the Force calls you back home. It is a gift from the Force and perhaps over time, it can be something to heal your heart. It will serve as a connection to another. You will be bound to each other and draw from each other's strength. You might detest it at first, Padawan, but I urge you to remember who you truly are. I hope this proves that you are not alone and that you still have a purpose in this world."_

_"I - I have a Force bond?"_

_Master Orgus only smiled sadly, and Zephyr felt his heart stopping because of the sheer sense of finality that came from that expression. "Love doesn't lead to the dark side, my Padawan. Passion can lead to rage and fear, and can be controlled. But passion is not the same thing as love. Love itself will save you, my Padawan. You still have room for love in your heart, and you are not as far gone as you think you are."_

_"May the Force guide you and watch over you, my Padawan," Orgus smiled sadly, one last time._

* * *

He jolted out of the bed with a scream, falling on to the floor, heart pounding viciously. His chest rose and fell erratically, wheezing for air. Bone-crushing anguish grips his heart and he feels his eyes misting over as he felt claws tearing through his chest again. He curls inwardly to himself, hiding his face into his knees. A torrent of grief comes crashing through his barriers. Quiet desperation floods his world and he screams soundlessly into void.

He howls and weeps for what felt like hours.

When he is carved hollow, he feels as cold and empty as the tombs in Korriban.

* * *

On Odessen, Scourge jolted awake from a night of tortured sleep, a dream where he helplessly observed from the sidelines as he watched the fallen Jedi weep and mourn for his departed master. Never before had he felt such sorrow and anguish.

Zephyr.


End file.
